Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Chapter 9
Minutes or hours have passed since he pushed me up against the cold metal of the cage and cuffed me here.
My eyes are closed and even though my body’s been through so much I can feel every muscle, every hair on my head and nerve in my body, hell, every fucking cell, I’m not here. My mind is somewhere else. Somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the man who wants my surrender.
When he dominates me, my body responds without my consent. The whipping he gave me hurt, but the memory makes me push my thighs together with a pulse of need. He’s ruthless, and even cruel, but here in this room, chained as his captive, my body demands more.
And isn’t that the fucking conundrum.
The shower drones on and I know he’s taking his time on purpose. He gave me instructions before he left to shower, and I’m trying to remember what he said.
Something about obedience, blah blah blah. Yeah, I get that.
Tonight is an important event, and he needs me to behave. Even though the thought of another punishment scares me… it also excites me a little. I don’t wish to go through that again. At the memory of the strap’s vicious sting, I pull into myself a little.
And my mind begins to wander.
How is Calina?
Are you safe, Calina? Are you happy?
Do you miss me?
But as soon as I think of her, the physical pain and need takes over and my mind comes back to the present.
I assess my situation.
Cold, unyielding metal pressed up against my body and at my wrists. The pain of the spanking faded a lot more than I’d have expected, but then I remember the way he massaged lotion on me afterward, promising to mitigate bruising. And at the memory, my arousal builds again.
Strewn over his lap, angry and hurt that he spanked me, then the soothing feel of warm fingers and lotion on my punished skin. When he pressed me against him to go to sleep, I let my mind imagine for one brief moment that this was real, that I actually meant something to him. What else am I going to do here? I’m his prisoner and I have debt to pay, so I’ll do whatever gets me through this. Whatever makes it easier. Even if it’s a delusion and one step closer to the true insanity that got my sister in the institution.
I imagined I was his submissive who’d earned a punishment then comfort in the arms of her master, and when I fell asleep with the imaginary fantasy, I dreamt I really was his. I woke tucked up against his side with one knee hitched up on him and one arm strewn across his muscled chest.
My cheeks flame with embarrassment at the memory. But it felt nice, for a little while. God, it felt nice.
And now… he promised pleasure if I behave. He promised pain for disobedience, and on that front he delivered. Something tells me this man is every bit as capable of delivering pleasure as pain.
The shower shuts off and I freeze.
He wants me to tell him how I’ll behave. I have a role to fill, and hell, I’m going to do it. I could fight him and earn punishment, and really draw out that beast in him that lurks behind that pretty face and devilish eyes.
Or I could comply, and pay my debt back. Take whatever pleasure I can.
So I do what he wants me to. I stay still against the cage, compliant and submissive until I hear him enter the room.
He enters the room, bringing his heat and strength and power with him.
“That’s a good little kitten,” he says, prowling up behind me. “So beautiful and submissive, waiting for her master.”
I nod. “Yes, sir. Yes, master.”
He rewards me with a gentle stroke of my hair that makes me wish for one moment this was real. I swallow hard to fight against the innate desire for attention. For approval. Hell, for love.
“Such a good girl,” he says. My throat tightens, a warmth spreading through my chest, radiant and shimmering like sunrise.
“You are fucking stunning like this,” he says, his voice thick and husky. “Sladkiy i pokornyy.”
“What does that mean?” I ask softly. I’m going to work harder at my Russian. I don’t like not knowing what he says.
“Sweet and submissive,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “Have you thought about what I asked you to in my absence?”
I nod. “Yes, sir, of course.”
“And how will you behave this evening?” he asks, brushing my hair so gently from my shoulder before he kisses me that a small part of me melts a little.
Don’t, I warn myself. Don’t fall for the tender side of him. You mean nothing to him.
“I will be the picture of submission and grace,” I tell him. “I will obey you and not speak out of turn. I will make you proud to have me on your arm.”